


young souls, canvas hearts

by hisgirltuesday (burntcookiies)



Category: Maximum Ride - James Patterson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Art, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, High School, I Blame Tumblr, I Don't Even Know, Painting, street art
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3098612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burntcookiies/pseuds/hisgirltuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They paint because it is in their blood and they bleed colors. It's easy to keep color within the lines, but emotions are a different story—when two artists fall in love. AH, AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chroma

**Author's Note:**

> Back after half a year (yay) with nothing to show 'cept for a runaway muse and a number of half-written oneshots taking up space on my Drive. Sigh.  
> But okay this fic idea hit me out of nowhere and practically consumed three vital months of my life. Still rusty in my writing (Happy New Year to me), so eh.

She'd always known that she was an artist.

When people ask her what makes her so sure, she'll shrug with the palms of her hands facing skyward and say,  _I found and lost myself in art_. She'll pause and run a paint-speckled hand through dirty blond locks before continuing with,  _I draw because it's in my soul, paint because it's in my blood and I bleed colors. I create because I can, I destroy because I have the power to do so. Art,_ Max says, _is who I am_.

Most of the time they'll leave satisfied. Those who aren't will nod anyway and say,  _charming_. But no matter what happens, it doesn't matter.

Because honestly, it's just one of those things that can't ever be answered —you just _know_ , from the marrow of your bones to the very fibers of your being. For Max, it's as natural as breathing. One slow inhale for every stroke of color on a blank canvas. An exhale for a charcoal smear on parchment. A sigh for every completed piece that will either end up in her already cluttered room or Jeb's office, and a short gasp of unbridled excitement whenever she comes up with a new plan for her next design, forgetting that she has homework to do and the reminder on her phone is ignored.

From crayons to color pencils in her elementary days, paint and pastel in middle school, to more advanced mediums like clay and charcoal in high school—she's mastered them all. She's made a plan where she'll make sure art is a class in all her years and doodles in the margins of her class notebooks until the drawings eventually bleed onto her notes and honestly, those boring trigonometry equations suddenly look more appealing with blooming flower vines curled around them.

She spends her allowance on art supplies rather than new jeans because she likes the way paint is randomly splattered all over the denim along with the smudges of charcoal that somehow never washed out; they're proof of her work. _And besides_ , she says to Jeb, half-jokingly when he tries to reason with her to just buy a new pair for a family reunion, _if crabby Aunt Anne asks me what I like doing, I'll just point to my jeans. One unpleasant conversation averted, right?_

Her drawings are always littered over the glass coffee table, just as Maya's music compositions are scattered on the kitchen table. It's always been a running joke between them to threaten each other's work as a start to Monday mornings— _If you don't clear them off the table before I set my breakfast down, she'll say, I can't guarantee that they'll be milk free_. But she'll still neatly stack them up anyway and waits for the reply of  _Then I can't guarantee your drawings will be wrinkle free when my feet are up on the coffee table, sister dear,_  and Maya will come out of the bathroom with her head inclined in thanks; Jeb will shake his head and wonder aloud about why he's the only technical one in the family.

When people ask her why she loves art so much, she'll shrug with the palms of her hands facing skyward and ask,  _Does there have to be a reason? Because_ —

_because_

_—I just_  do _._

* * *

Spray painting, however, becomes her forte the minute she discovers it. It's quite enchanting, really; wild and untamed colors contained in an aerosol can, waiting to be transferred to a blank white poster board.

The first time she tries it, it's messy and out in her apartment balcony because the thought of her room smelling like industrial grade chemicals is unflattering, coupled with the fact that she'd like her desk to stay a natural brown. Her Saturday is spent experimenting on multiple poster boards purchased at the dollar store with her usual supplies scattered around her, from wadded up newspapers to palette knives. She learns to angle the aerosol can properly, and by the end of the day the first board resembles a tie-dye shirt. (Or a dying rainbow, in her sister's words.) Eventually, she grows more confident and creates a portrait of the solar system using different sized jar lids and her palette knife to scrape away black paint to reveal white stars underneath. It ends up in Jeb's office and soon, she's not satisfied with painting on canvases and poster boards.

It's no surprise, then, that she turns to run down and unused warehouses and red brick alleyways already covered with profanity and crude drawings of genitals. There's just something fulfilling with her way she lightly sprays an entire section of a wall pure white, and begins her own personal mission to beautify this part of the neighborhood—downtown Westfield—with its reputation of being the arguably poorer half of Westfield south of the dividing train tracks.

From white space blooms a splash of browns, blacks, and greys; she climbs onto empty dumpsters to reach the top of her painting, and a falcon in flight slowly but surely appears, bit by bit. She outlines it's outstretched wings in detail and mentally plans out the placement of its feathers, brows scrunched in concentration. She's so engrossed in her work that she doesn't notice that the sun has set and it's when her can of brown runs out does she notice that she should be heading back home for dinner unless she wanted Jeb to call the cops on her.

She doesn't reveal her latest project until Maya casually mentions over dinner a month later about how the buildings have been taken over by birds and quite frankly, it's pretty amazing, really. Jeb only looks intrigued. However, she's silent, slowly chewing on her lasagna, waiting for Maya to go on when her twin casually questions about  _when, exactly, Max, were you going to tell us?_ The rest of dinner is spent explaining about her personal mission to paint a bird on every abandoned warehouse wall or on dirty red brick alleyways, because she thinks this South Westfield needs a major makeover.  _And it has to be a bird in flight,_  she adds before Maya rolls hazel browns and finishes it off with  _because everything has to be a symbol with you_.

Max continues to paint falcons, doves, hawks, sparrows, and anything she feels like painting on every dilapidated surface she finds, but even after she's finished and wipes sweat off with stained fingers and waits for the feeling of unaltered joy to come, it still doesn't feel quite right. Like there's still missing details to fill in, or there's still some features she still needs to add. Something more. But try as she might, she can't place what it is and adding more feathers will not make the "I know I'm missing something" feeling go away.

It is in her senior year when she finds a remedy for the solution.

* * *

"Don't you dare run out on me, Royal Red," she growls to the object at fault, stopping briefly in her work to shake the can. "I'm pretty sure I'm out of money to buy a new one."

Her newest painting of a Phoenix rising from its ashes is her magnum opus, she's sure of it; she's spent almost a week on it and it's far by the most elaborate and detailed one. There's fifty something shades of red, orange, gold, and yellow and it's the one that demanded the most attention with its location: situated on a looming wall behind low store building roofs; one could easily spy majestic red wings from their viewpoint on Main Street.

She climbs down from her ladder and reaches for her beat up gray messenger bag, silently praying to whatever deity that she hasn't offended so far in her life, hoping that she'll somehow magically find bills in the many pockets of her bag.

No such luck.

She does, however, find a coupon for a free can of paint. The spark of hope in her chest at seeing a new opportunity to grab another Royal Red dies out as soon as she spots the expiration date marked as last week and she slumps against her ladder, blowing out a defeated sigh.

"Well...I guess it's time to improvise," she says, eyeing her cans neatly lined up by their hues and selecting Firebrick Red. Other people might have told her to just put it off, but tomorrow was the start of the new school year and a completed Phoenix for a new start, right?

With renewed determination, she climbs back up and breathes in the warm summer air, wipes her hands on cutoff shorts before letting art overtake her.

* * *

She grabs her yellow schedule the next morning, eyes scanning briefly to check if art was her standard fifth period and gives a hum of satisfaction when it is and tugs a grumbling Maya (Why am I stuck with Davison for Calculus?) to find Iggy and Nudge standing by their lockers.

"Where's Lissa?" She asks, looking around for the redhead.

"With her sister," Iggy answers her before Nudge launches a barrage of questions.

"What classes do you guys have? Can you believe that Davison hasn't retired and is teaching Calc for another year?" Nudge complains. "After having her last year, I don't think I'm going to make it. But I have drama though!" Her face brightens considerably at her elective.

"You're not alone, Nudge," Maya says and points to her own schedule. "We can suffer together."

While Maya and Nudge moan about their impending doom, she takes the opportunity to ask Iggy about Angel and Gazzy. "How are your freshmen doing?"

He shrugs. "Eh. My mom made me come earlier to show them around. I already know Gazzy will take over my legacy as being the top Chem kid."

She's about to ask him about his classes when the bell rings and they're forced to leave in opposite directions. She shifts her backpack onto one shoulder and trudges through the crowd to History, only looking forward to lunch and Art.

* * *

"Green apple coming your way." She rolls a red Washington apple across their usual corner lunch table to Iggy and laughs at the look he throws her way.

"I'm colorblind, not stupid," he says dryly. "I'd be damned if Washington apples turned green."

Maya rolls her eyes and sets down her own tray, taking a seat next to her. Lissa peels her orange and carefully separates the sections while Nudge picks at her salad until they're all settled before breaking into chatter.

"There's a new kid!" Nudge exclaims. "He's in my PE class and lemme just say that the kid can run." She pauses. "He's pretty hot too, but I think he wears too much black."

"Um," She offers through a mouthful of spaghetti.

"Well that sucks," Iggy drawls, leaning back in his chair. "Moving when it's senior year."

"What's his name?" Maya asks, clearly interested. She shoots a look towards her twin and Maya gives her a "he's fair game" face.

"Nick Ride, I think," Nudge answers. "Good luck trying to snag him, because I see Brigid flirting with him."

"Already?" Iggy turns around and spies the red-headed girl with the new kid in the middle of the cafeteria. He shakes his head and looks at Lissa. "Sometimes I forget that you're related."

Lissa shrugs. "Sometimes I do too. It's for the better, I think."

She's about to offer her two cents but she remembers what she wanted to show them before school even started. She whips out her phone and shows them her Phoenix set as her wallpaper.

"Wow, Max! You've really outdone yourself this time! This is your best one yet!"

Iggy whistles in appreciation. "Damn. Even though it's just gray to me, it's stunning."

"Are you going to show Keller?" Lissa asks. "Because this is gorgeous."

"Yep," she replies, popping the P and thinking of her next class. "I can't wait."

* * *

Max doesn't know what to feel when she walks into Miss Keller's room and spies a black-clad figure rearranging paint bottles on the crafts table. She also doesn't realize that she's watching him separate the acrylics from the tempura and the watercolors from the oils until the warning bells rings and he meets her gaze for a second.

Nudge was right, he was pretty hot —if you were into dark boys with shaggy hair and soulful eyes who radiated mystery...and could single-handedly categorize paint without looking at their labels.

 _Damn_  indeed.

She breaks their gaze when Miss Keller sweeps into the room with a clear plastic tub full of art supplies—new paintbrushes, she excitedly notes—and begins listing the class curriculum while simultaneously shelving said art supplies.

"In this class, you'll be given a month to create a project based on what we will be learning. For example, if we're learning about pottery, there will be a month for you guys to make something out of clay that reflect…"

She tunes Miss Keller out, already knowing the curriculum by heart and turning her attention to Nick who was currently looking at the walls of the classroom which were covered in paintings, shelves stocked with clay sculptures. She's also mildly horrified when she realizes that she wants to know more about him and the way his features soften whenever he looks at paintings of landscapes. She finds herself wishing that maybe, she could be his partner for the semester because—

"Nick Ride and Maxine Martinez!"

Her eyes widen considerably as she looks at Miss Keller, who's grinning widely at her, wondering if the woman had obtained psychic powers over the summer. She drags her gaze to Nick who is currently looking uncomfortable with the amount of stares he is currently receiving. Making her way to him, she offers him a smile she hopes looks friendly.

"Max," she offers as an introduction.

Dark brown eyes meet hazel and Nick inclines his head in return.

"Nick," he replies, and she tries not to think about the way the sound of his voice—because damn, that baritone—makes her feel.

* * *

"Nick's my art partner."

Maya stops walking and lets her backpack fall to the sidewalk. "No freaking way."

"Oh yeah," she says, turning to look at her twin. "And guess what? The guy knows his paints."

Maya picks her bag back up and smirks. "So I'm guessing that someone has a crush now, huh? How cute." They continue walking and Maya prods her shoulder as they near their apartment complex. "You should invite him to the Hub on Friday," she says. "Moving here his senior year and all. At this point I'm willing to bet that you're his only friend."

She mulls over the thought in her head and decides that it was a pretty good idea. "Sounds good. He did look kinda lost today in class," she says as they're walking up the stairs. "And besides, if he's with us Brigid will back off."

Maya unlocks their door and throws her bag onto the sofa. "Yeah, because who can ever forget the incident where you 'accidentally' tripped her and sent her crashing into the lockers in freshman year?"

"Don't you have to practice?" She asks when Maya pulls a package of Cup Noodles off the kitchen shelf. "Your performance is in two days."

"Yesterday while you were off finishing your Phoenix," her twin replies. "We got the song down pat. Speaking of the Phoenix, what did Keller say about it?"

"She fawned over it, as usual," she says. "Called me her best student in her six years of teaching. My grade is secured in her class."

Her thoughts drift to a certain raven haired boy who had watched her intently as she showed her phone to Miss Keller at the front of the room, who was gushing about the colors and hues and everything else.

 _Yeah_ , she thinks.  _I would like to know you more_.

* * *

 


	2. sketch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is long overdue, but here it is. I apologize to everyone for two years of waiting.

Nick, Max discovers the next day, is not exactly a conversationalist. Sure, she should've gathered that from her way he carried himself— _shrouded in silence and mystery_ , Maya had said last night,  _makes you wonder what he's hiding_ —and his choice in clothing—she had absolutely nothing against black; it's a cool color—but she'd hoped that at least he could talk with her. As in, she wasn't the one initiating all their conversations.

Her normal routine in art was to walk over to the shelves and take out whatever paints that she needed for her current project of the month, talk about what needed to be done for the day with her partner, jotting down different techniques and milestones that were going to be used, and writing a quick reflection of the things your partner did in an "art journal". This process was implemented by Miss Keller in an attempt to make sure each partner pulled their own weight on a project, and to make sure there was plenty of brainstorming and encouragement going on between people.

That fact would be further accentuated on the class syllabus, where  _Please talk with your fellow students to exchange ideas! Art is loud and creative!_  was the only sentence bolded, italicized, and underlined. It also didn't help that some students would use this class to talk about anything other than art, and Max would always get distracted by the latest gossip that was floating around instead of focusing, because  _say what what did Bridget do to some freshman, it's the second day of school_ and  _who got their phone taken away already by Mr. Samuels?_

So, of course, this posed a small problem when she was trying to actually focus and discuss their first project—which was to paint still life—with Nick, and all she was getting was  _Yeah, that sounds good_  and  _Don't you think this works better, since it's less time consuming_. This wasn't too bad for a start since it was a lot better than some partners that she had in the past that were either too indecisive or didn't feel the need to actually try in class because  _it was an art class, an easy A, relax Max_.

She'd always feel miffed when someone told her that reason and always felt smug satisfaction when, later on in the semester, Miss Keller would introduce different styles of painting that actually required skill and attention.

"Okay, so our two options are narrowed down into that globe in the corner next to the paintbrushes, or that vase of flowers next to the sink," Max says as she smooths down the sheet of canvas paper Miss Keller had passed out earlier. She also jots down  _Project 1: Globe VS Vase Who will win?_  in her art journal, before turning back to Nick.

"From experience, though, a lot of people tend to choose the flowers. Something like not being able to sketch the continents on the globe had to do something with that, I think."

Nick taps his fingers on the paper and shrugs. "I like a challenge." His eyes meet hers briefly, and Max swears that she sees the ghost of a smirk on his face. "Besides," he continues, "there will be less competition of 'who painted it better.'"

Max doesn't know why, but she suddenly feels like something that Maya would, later on, describe as that cliche moment in the movies where everything was finally going right for the protagonist, to which Lissa and Nudge would nod vigorously at.

"Good point," Max finds herself saying, crossing out _Vase_  and writing down  _Globe is the victor_  right beneath it. "Although you're going to help me sketch it because whenever I try to sketch circular objects, they turn out to be ovular and I hate erasing on canvas paper."

Nick looks like he wants to add something to that, but that's when Miss Keller taps her on the shoulder, and Max twists around in her chair to face her teacher.

"Max, Nick, I hope you guys have an idea on mind," Miss Keller says as she jots down something in her clipboard before looking back up. "Class is half over and I'm afraid I'm falling a little behind schedule; I still cannot believe how many students just want to sketch a portion of the ceiling or their desks even though I explicitly stated not to do so in the beginning of class."

Max couldn't completely verify that fact, since she was busy texting Maya for tips—Maya would always respond multiple tears of laughter emojis with a final  _ask him to an art club meeting, Pres LMAO_ —when class started, but she knew the rules of art class by heart, which was to try to reach for the extraordinary.

"Of course, Miss Keller," she replies the same time Nick nods his head. "We were thinking of doing the globe next to the paintbrushes. We think it's a pretty interesting thing to paint, because I think most people don't really expect to see one in an art classroom."

"I suppose not, but then again, expect the unexpected," Miss Keller laughs.

"Also, the blue of the globe provides a nice complement to the orange and brown hues of the surrounding paintbrushes, and it looks nice with the white of the sink," Nick adds quietly, and this is quickly followed by enthusiastic agreement from Miss Keller.

As for Max, well, she can't decide to enthusiastically agree or silently appraise Nick again. She decides to settle for the latter, since the former would be kind of...creepy to do at this point. Something like not having enough friendship points to do such a thing at this point, as Iggy might say.

But seriously though, that was really good insight.

"Well, it looks like the two of you are off to a good start!" Max tunes back in at the end of Miss Keller's conversation and automatically nods in response, and watches her approach the next pair of students behind them.

"That went well," Max muses as she takes out her sketching pencil and eraser. "I can start sketching and you can choose and mix some paints—the palettes should be stored in the cabinet above the sink."

Max doesn't really register when Nick gets up and heads toward the sink; once the tip of her pencil touches the paper the rest of the class just fades away, and she is just alone with her thoughts, totally absorbed in bringing the globe and the rest of the objects in the corner to life. Her hand is on autopilot, graphite racing over the paper in seamless strokes.

 _Here, Max_ , a tiny voice in her head says, the same one that she'd always heard whenever she was absorbed in her art,  _you're the creator_.

The ten-minute warning bell combined with gentle tapping on the paper by Nick finally breaks her out of her reverie.

"Hey," Nick says as he slips back into his seat. "I chose the paints that we could use, but I didn't mix any because class is almost over."

Nick then leans over and tugs the paper over to him, eyes scanning over the sketch briefly. "Wow, this is really good."

Max blinks, before her brain registers that silent, stoic Nick paid her a compliment. She imagines spamming the group chat later with  _Nick loved my sketch!_ (okay, maybe that's an exaggeration) but first things first.

"Oh, um, thanks," she replies after a beat.

"You were mentioning something about difficulty free handing circles earlier, right?" Nick questions. "I don't know about you, but I think this looks fine."

(Okay, she takes that back—she was totally going to blow up the group chat later.)

"Although, here's a future reference and tip." Nick is clearly not done, and flips to the back of his art journal. "Most people, from what I've seen, usually hold their pencil like this." He demonstrates, sliding his hand up and begins drawing a circle. "This is fine, but only for people with great wrist mobility. So to compensate, this is what I usually try to do."

And in a totally unprecedented move, Nick stuns her for the second time today by reaching over and correcting her attempts at mimicking his finger positions.

"Here, like this," he says quietly and places his hand over hers. "Move your thumb a little bit higher."

It's a good tip; Max finds herself relaxing when she tries out the new technique. She's also thankful that her hand hadn't started sweating or anything in the past few minutes, that would've been embarrassing.

They're the last people to finish packing up their stuff when the bell finally rings and they put their paper in the WIP basket on Miss Keller's desk.

She manages to catch Nick again right when he's about to leave for their final classes of the day, Maya's last text in her mind.

"So there's an art club meeting tomorrow during lunch in Keller's room," she breathes out, slightly out of breath after running after him. "If you're interested, anyone is welcome. The first meeting of the year and all that."

She's not sure if miracle number three happens then, when Nick offers her a small smile.

"I'll be there."

* * *

“That was the opportunity to ask for his number!” Maya practically yells at her when Max recounts the event later. “You know, to like update him on art club shenanigans, Ms. President.” It was after school and Maya, Lissa, and Nudge were all lounging on Maya’s bed while Max was on hers. She had spammed the group chat in her last class—therefore not paying attention to anything to Mr. Johnson was talking about lab safety precautions whatsoever—and her twin had called a girls meeting at their apartment, to which Iggy had typed out,  _ you can’t see me, but I’m rolling my eyes _ . 

"Yeah, totally," Nudge agrees. "He complimented you too. Which, I think, is a big deal for Nick. Today in PE, it was basketball, and he mostly kept to himself, even though in basketball you're kinda forced to interact with your team and all. So this is like, major character development."

"Chill, chill, guys," Lissa says. "I'm pretty sure Max didn't want to make Nick late for class."

"Yeah!" Max breathes out in relief that finally, someone, was there to defend her, but Lissa cuts her off.

"Because of course Max still has time to ask him tomorrow at the meeting!" Lissa is practically laughing at her expression when she's finished, Max is sure, and Nudge and Maya are leaning over to high five Lissa.

Damn it all to hell, Max thinks, as she buries her face in her hands.

* * *

 Max doesn't think she could live through another round of teasing from well-meaning people, she's sure, and she's glad that the conversation at dinner with Jeb was focused on school. It was time to narrow down her potential future colleges, and Jeb was reminding them on filling out scholarships.

"Dad," Maya whined as she twirled spaghetti around her fork before stabbing a meatball, "there are only so many scholarships geared towards what I wanna do. The majority of them, or at least the ones available in the school career center, are for women in engineering. I've filled out all the ones that were even remotely related to music already."

It was the same for Max's case too, except that she still needed to build her portfolio, and she tells her dad this. This wasn't a hard thing to do, since she had more than enough material to work with, but narrowing down pieces that, hopefully, showed variety.

Jeb, in response, tells her that it's good progress already and if she'd wanted to include any of the paintings that he'd put in his office, he would gladly bring them back home.

"Thanks, Dad," she says, and Maya switches the topic to talk about the latest events at school.

"There's a new kid. A senior guy named Nick," Maya starts, and Max groans inwardly. Leave it to her twin to get the ball rolling.

Jeb hums sympathetically. "That must be hard. Leaving all your friends behind in your last year of high school."

"Seriously. I'd be pretty bummed if that happened to me. On another note, he's interested in art, just like Max." At this point, someone had to be blind to miss the Cheshire grin Maya threw her away, and Jeb raises an eyebrow.

"Um," Max says through a mouthful of spaghetti. She quickly swallows and wipes her mouth with her napkin. "He's just in my art class. He's pretty nice."

"Well, I suppose that's a good thing. It's difficult to settle into a new school without knowing anyone that shares an interest in the things that you do," Jeb concedes. "I hope you two can guide him around."

"That's not a problem." Maya grins, giving Max a subtle suggestive glance. "Anyway, Brigid was sort of threatening freshmen around today. Not exactly sure about what, but that's what I heard."

Jeb makes a face. "Brigid Dwyer? Lissa's younger sister and...Science Olympiad President?"

"Speech and Debate too," Max can't help adding. "That girl can start an argument with anyone about anything. Must be her personality."

"See, that's the thing," Maya says. "She's super smart and talented but would it kill her to be nicer to others? All the major drama that Westfield High experienced involved Brigid one way or another."

Jeb sighs. "I'm sure she will come to her senses eventually. Now, whose turn is it to do the dishes?"

* * *

 It was totally Maya's turn, but Max lets it go because  _Maaax, I really need to update my blog and upload my newest rehearsal video, and dinner could've been worse, and you're the best twin everrrr._

It was one of Maya's weaker excuses (read: the  _weakest_  so far, knowing her sister), but being alone in the kitchen gave her more alone time to herself to think.

Here were the facts:

When Max was six years old, Valencia Batchelder taught her how to paint.

Maya was always the more sociable twin, always leaps and bounds ahead of Max when it came to making friends. She was the more withdrawn, often siding with the guys in elementary for games. But then, there was a point where cooties and  _Max, you're a girl, go play with your sister or something_  took root and, well, Max had never seen the appeal of what her sister normally did for fun interesting, even though Lissa and Monique were pretty nice and friendly.

Iggy would always try his best to include her, but even then she'd gotten the message.

When Max was ten, she'd received her first sketchbook, because  _Oh, my darling girl, here you can be a creator. Here you can break it down to build it up again._

Her mother told her that through art was another way of seeing people and the world. Y _ou will notice, Max, more details about people. Did you see the way that woman smiled when she hugged that man? It's nice to see people in love._

_But I guess my point is, there's a whole 'nother world waiting to be explored with whatever colors you choose. Life is but a canvas, Max._

When it came down to Nick, Max knew that most of her friends chalked it up to her love for all things art. She'd only knew the dude for a day, after all. How often did you find someone who was wholly, genuinely passionate about something that you loved too? Not to mention the fact that Nick seemed like a nice guy that also seemed to be more mature than half the guys that attended Westfield.

But there was something else in Nick's gaze...the way he'd stared at the paintings of soft landscapes, the way he'd cared to whether she could sketch a circular object or not. There was something, frankly  _indescribable_  there. She wanted to draw it out. Put a label, visualize it.

Max's hands itched for her sketchbook.

Here were the facts:

Max loved art.

And in a totally, non-creepishly way, Nick resembled some of abstract art. And with that kind of art, Max couldn't help but want to come up her own interpretation.

* * *

 "You took your sweet time," Maya remarks when she'd walked into their shared bedroom sometime later. "I even had the time to shower."

"Yeah, well," She says as she sits down at her desk and powering up her laptop. "I was distracted." Max realizes that this was the wrong thing to say the moment when Maya snickers.

"Oh, I bet. Were you thinking of a certain dark haired, enigmatic Nick Ride?"

There was no use lying to her twin. "Yes and no."

Maya hums delightedly while Max takes a few seconds for the internet to connect and visits her blog, and suddenly remembers that she still had to upload the photo of the Phoenix.

"Are you updating your blog too?" Her sister is suddenly hovering over her shoulder as the home page of  _Canvas Hearts, Art Blog_  loads.

"Yeah, you indirectly reminded me. I just need to think of a blurb to put with it," she says, and Maya  _oh's_.

"Hmmm, okay. Lemme see if I can think of anything to help."

It takes her a couple of seconds to think of a sentence, and Max quickly types it down before she forgets.

"Don't you think Nick is like, in a non-creepy way, abstract art?"

Maya does a double take. "Is that your blurb? And why are you comparing him to art?"

"Okay, no, that's definitely not my blurb. And okay, that might've been the weirdest art metaphor that I've made in my life, but something about him makes me just want to...know him." Her voice drops a little at the end, and Maya pats her back.

"It's okay, Max. It's totally normal to want to know more about people that seem super mysterious. It's almost like the movies where some boy moves to a new town and is oh-so-mysterious and the heroine just wants to know him better against her better judgment and everyone else's, and he turns out to be, like a vampire or something."

Max can barely hold back her groan. "Did you just compare my situation to  _Twilight_? Because my situation is nothing like that train wreck."

There's a pause. "My bad. Not the best analogy."

She eventually finishes typing up her post and makes Maya proofread it before hitting  _Post_.

"Calling it, this will be your most popular post," Maya declares, and Max rolls her eyes.

"You say that every time."

"I'm nothing but supportive." Maya winks.

"Well, there's nothing else for me to do, I'm gonna brush my teeth and sleep." Max mock sighs and heads out the door.

* * *

 "Hey, Max?"

"Go to sleep, Maya."

"Okay, but what kind of art style would I be, if Nick is like abstract?"

"Junk art."


	3. mural

Max hated planning club meetings.

Even after a year of being President, coming up with announcements and general plans for the school year was something she never got used to. It wasn't like it was a hard thing, per se, but it was akin to the feeling where she'd have a vague idea for an essay but by the time it got written down in Word, it sounded nothing like her original outline. The first meeting of the year was going to be especially tough—there were so many things to go over in thirty-five minutes.

And so far, the only things that were written down in her paint-speckled planner was _Introduce cabinet, Mention what Art Club did, Explain future potential projects, Pass out member applications_. Max frowned. There should definitely be more things on the list, but Mr. Scott had decided to gather the class for a Socratic Seminar—on the third day of school, no less—to talk about what people knew about Shakespeare and about the plays that they were going to be studying for the rest of the semester. On any other day, Max wouldn't have a problem with participating—Nudge was more than enthusiastic on sharing Shakespearean plays that they had to do in drama—but this meant that her attention was diverted from planning the meeting.

She immediately regrets leaving this to the class right before lunch, and Lissa, who was sitting to her right, glances over to her list written in various block letter fonts.

"Maybe add 'how fundraising works?' since it's kinda important to let people know that they gotta help in order to raise funds," she suggests in a low whisper, right when Mr. Scott asked if anyone had anything to say about Hamlet.

"Good point. Thanks, Lissa," Max whispers back and quickly writes the idea down. "I think I can wing it from here."

"You can always make JJ fill in with more details," Lissa reminds her, and quickly turns back to her own notebook.

"Ah, Max. Would you like to share with the class about your thoughts on Hamlet?" Mr. Scott locks eyes with her from his desk, and Max inwardly sighs. Teachers always seemed to have the uncanny ability to spot any student that was doing something else other than the assignment. Another reason why she loved Art, where she could be goof around and still be productive.

But for now, she just hopes she could improvise with knowledge gained from Nudge.

"Well, Hamlet is one of Shakespeare's most famous plays," Max begins slowly, well aware that she had the attention of nearly everyone in the classroom. "It's a tragedy, much like a lot of his other plays, and it's the longest play that he had written in his lifetime."

And of course, this was when her mind totally blanked out.

It wasn't that she really didn't know what Hamlet was about; she'd seen it with the rest of her friends when Nudge and the rest of the theater kids decided to make it their winter play last year. There was a lot of murder going on, a lot of ghosts, people going crazy, and a ton of people dying—so much, in fact, that there was only one person alive that the end of the play if she remembered correctly.

Max exhales slowly.

She really hated public speaking.

"Also," she starts again when the silence began to get awkward—ugh, and she was so determined to prove Mr. Scott wrong—"the main plot of the play was centered around revenge, because Prince Hamlet's uncle killed his father for the throne, and Hamlet had to do something about it."

By the end of her mini-speech, her palms were clammy and her mouth was dry, but at least she had the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Scott look surprised, and then, a grudging nod.

"Yes, that is correct," he says and turns his attention back to the Literature book. "The beauty of the play lies primarily in the use of language, and it also has many themes and symbolism…"

"Hey," Lissa whispers. "You did well."

"I have to thank Nudge for that," she whispers back. "But geez, I really hate speaking in front of people. You'd think I'd be used to it, but no. My palms are sweaty now."

"Are your knees weak and arms heavy, too?" Lissa stifles a giggle in response to the look Max gives her. "Okay, sorry. But that's because you're talking about something you're not used to and you don't really like. Trust me, you're a completely different person when you're arting."

* * *

 The second the bell rings, Max has all her stuff packed away. After re-arranging her desk back to its original position, she was out the door with Lissa in tow, practically shoving past underclassmen in the crowded hallway. Normally, she wouldn't be in such a rush to get out, but the English building had the misfortune of being the farthest building from the Art complex.

"Sorry!" Lissa manages to apologize to a couple of people that were unceremoniously shoved aside to the lockers. "It was totally accidental, I swear!"

"Be prepared to apologize on my behalf when we get to the main doors," Max calls over her shoulder. That was always the worst part. Call it faulty design or whatever, but the heavy doors were made to automatically swing back shut, and students always had to pause and push them back.

In the end, they successfully exit the building with a few more shouted apologies and one bruised elbow on her part. They're both speed walking across campus trying to avoid the swarm of students running to the cafeteria when Max sees a familiar black and blue Sharpie-drawn Starry Night messenger bag and a flash of blonde expertly weaving through lunchtime traffic, also heading in the general direction of the Art building.

"JJ, slow down!" she calls, breaking into a jog in an attempt to catch up. Lissa hurries after her, both making an attempt in quieting their footsteps as they ran across the pavement.

She's about to throw both hands on JJ's shoulders in a mock scare when the blonde suddenly whirls around with a grin.

"Gotcha!"

Max skids to a stop and lets her hands fall back down to her sides. "I wish I didn't call your name," she sighs. "Bad move on my part."

JJ laughs and shakes her head. "If you found a way to come at me where your shadows weren't giving your location away, then be my guest."

"Duly noted," she replies in return, and Lissa shifts her backpack impatiently. "We should probably run now, it'll look bad if three-quarters of the cabinet were to be late."

Max shares a knowing glance with JJ and Lissa right before they all break into a sprint, cutting lawn corners and hopping over flower beds. "Last one has to pass out member applications!"

* * *

 Three minutes later, panting and out of breath, Max officially decided that someone out there had it in for her when Lissa barely beat her to Ms. Keller's classroom. To be fair, they were neck and neck until they reached the doorway, to which Lissa had practically thrown herself in front of Max.

In hindsight, Max was impressed that they hadn't ended up in a pile of tangled limbs on Miss Keller's colorful _Welcome!_  mat. JJ, who was already leaps and bounds ahead thanks to track and field, high-fived Lissa when they finally made their way to the table in front of the classroom.

"Looks like you're going to eat your own words, Max!"

"That was totally unfair," Max grumbles, setting her backpack down and taking out her planner and prepackaged sandwich. She decides to ignore the amused look Miss Keller shoots her way since her teacher basically had a front-row seat for their antics. "Lissa probably had this planned out because she knew that I would do anything to avoid having an embarrassing entrance."

"She's right," Lissa says, turning to the whiteboard, markers in hand. Miss Keller had already written  _On Wednesday, we ART!_  in colorful block print, followed by a smiley. "On any other occasion, she would've tackled me and made me regret everything."

Max sighs and turns to look at the classroom clock.  _12:07_. She supposed that they could start in two minutes since people were still walking in, lunches in hand. Speaking of new people, her eyes automatically sweep the room for a black-clad figure. She sees a cluster of returning members seated at the front tables closest to the windows on the right side of the room, and some new faces scattered in the middle of the room.

 _12:08_. No sight of Nick yet.

She's about to voice her concern to Lissa when the redhead suddenly turns around, almost as if she'd read her thoughts.

"Where's Sam? He's late," she says, and Max blinks. It had totally slipped her mind that Sam wasn't here; he was usually the earliest.

"Maybe he's getting lunch?" JJ suggests. "You could make him pass out the applications, then. As a punishment."

That actually wasn't a bad idea, but Max figures Sam wouldn't see it as a punishment and would do it anyway if she told him to. By the look Lissa shoots her, she's also pretty sure they were thinking the same thing.

"Yeah, sure," is what she ends up saying, but her words are nearly swallowed by a loudly spoken "No way! You've got to be kidding!" followed by high pitched and rather obnoxious sounding laughter.

Max feels her nails dig into the palms of her hand as the one and only Brigid Dwyer saunters in, followed closely by Nick and Sam. Well, mostly Nick—Sam, she supposed, had the misfortune to follow behind them. She watches as Brigid takes a seat directly in front of her and motioning to Nick to take the seat right next to her. The redhead all but ignores her gaze and it takes both Lissa and JJ to snap her out of it. Sam's also looking at her in concern, and she's embarrassed that she'd let her emotions get the better of her—in a meeting, no less.

"Did you really have to kick me," Max hisses under her breath. She also prays that the rest of the class was too absorbed in their own conversations to notice anything.

"If you had glared any longer, the fire alarms would be going off because my sister would be a pile of smoking ashes," Lissa whispers back. "It's 12:10, by the way. We should start."

Max lets out a slow breath and wills herself to be calm and composed. _You got this. Show everyone how it's done_.

"If you can hear me, clap once!" she yells over the din. There's a split second pause as everyone quieted down and complied. "If you can hear me, clap twice!"

When the clapping ends and everyone's attention was on her, Max makes an effort to look meet everyone's eyes, including her least favorite redhead in the front row—who was also meeting her gaze with an equally steely one. "Hey, everyone! Welcome to the first meeting of Art Club. I'm Max, this year's President."

She senses JJ, Lissa, and Sam step up next to her, introducing themselves as Vice President, Historian, and Fundraising and Treasurer, respectively.

"I hope everyone is excited for the upcoming year since there will be more events and activities," Max continues and quickly glances down at her planner. Her throat feels dry already and she brushes back her hair nervously.  _Explain what Art Club did_. "Since I see a lot of new faces, I'm gonna explain what impact Art Club has in Westfield High and the surrounding community. At a first glance, most people would just think this would be a club where we just discuss art and decorate the school during holidays along with the Student Council, but we actually do a lot more."

"For one, we also collaborate with the theater kids on making decorations for their plays, because props alone take a lot of time and effort to make."

Max pauses and makes the mistake of looking right at Brigid, who currently was resting her chin on her arms and sported a bored expression. She was also finding her salad more interesting than the meeting, judging by the way she was oh-so-intently mixing it dressing.

She feels her hands involuntarily clench again. No one was allowed to be bored during her meetings—even if they were, all returning members knew to at least act interested when she was talking. Nick; however, looked pretty interested, and Max hopes that it was genuine and not out of politeness.

She takes another deep breath and reaches for an Expo marker. Time to turn it up a notch.

"One of our bigger contributions to the school are the murals," Max says and turns around to hastily draw some different buildings around the school. "You might have noticed that some walls are painted with themes that reflect our school's beliefs. For example, one value is for students to become creative thinkers." Max reaches over for more Expo markers and continues drawing. "Well, that idea can be expressed on one wall of the English building. I'm sure you've all seen it since it's the side that's most directly facing the rest of campus."

Max closes her eyes and visualizes the mural of two students hunched over a World Literature book, watching in amazement as the characters of the books were leaping out of it, each bringing a bit of their own culture and knowledge into the world.

Her hand is soon on autopilot, drawing the mural across the whiteboard. She knows every line and stroke; she remembers painting part of it in her freshman year, memory clear as yesterday in her mind.

"As for Art Club events and activities, we usually do something for the holidays, where it could also overlap with a fundraising event. For example, last year we decided to make handmade Christmas cards around the beginning of December, and we made Valentine stickers for February."

Max moves to the other whiteboard and switches markers. "But our biggest event has to be the annual art Fall Fest in November, where the neighboring towns and their schools get together for a weekend of showcasing art."

She draws festival tents and food vendors with a multitude of people with their art. "This is also where we try to outshine our rivals on the north side of Westfield. November may seem far away, but trust me, it's pretty close."

"Art Club usually comes up with a few pieces as a club, but individuals are also encouraged to enter their own pieces if they're comfortable with it."

Max finishes drawing on the whiteboard and turns back to the class. _12:29_. She feels a sense of satisfaction when everyone's attention was completely fixed on her, and she ignores Brigid completely. In return, she feels the younger girl glare daggers at the back of her head, but Max is too giddy to care. Oh, how the tables have turned. "So, I think that's the gist of Art Club. I'm sure more will be revealed later on when I have more time in future meetings."

She meets Nick's eyes and he rewards her with a tiny smile.

"So, does anyone have any questions?" Max turns to Sam and motions for him to pass out the Club applications. He complies and walks down the aisle, handing every student a two-sided paper.

"If no one else has any, remember to fill out the application and bring it to next week's meeting," Max says right when the lunch bell rings. She turns to the rest of her friends to apologize that they didn't even get a chance to speak, but Lissa, JJ, and Sam were all openly staring at her. Only, Sam's was borderline adoration and Max has to look away, instead focusing on people walking out of the room, until a handful of students remain and take to their seats for Miss Keller's regular class.

Lissa is the first to break the silence. "Wow, Max. What happened to being terrified of public speaking?"

"Seriously," JJ says, munching on an apple. "You let us actually finish eating our lunches."

Max's stomach rumbles, and she immediately spots her neglected sandwich on top of her binder. "Yeah, and I didn't get to eat mine."

"Well, we should go," Lissa says, and waves goodbye to Miss Keller. "C'mon, JJ, Sam." JJ nods and finishes the rest of her apple, tossing the core into the trash.

Sam picks up his backpack and makes his way towards her. "That was really good, Max."

Max swallows. "Thanks."

Sam looked like he wanted to say more, he's cut off by Miss Keller, who gently warns him that he shouldn't be late for his next class. Max breathes a sigh of relief and picks up her stuff, and starts to make her way over to her regular table with Nick.

Her stomach growls again and Miss Keller looks back up. "You know you're always welcome to eat in my class, Max. Especially after that stellar speech," she winks.

Max sets her stuff next to Nick's right when he walks back with their sketch from yesterday. The rest of the class filters in, chattering away, and she's about to tell Nick something when he speaks first in that quiet and commanding baritone.

"You should eat first," he says, nodding at her neglected sandwich. "I'll mix the paints and have the paintbrushes ready when you're done. Hopefully." The last part is added in with a smirk and Max can't help rolling her eyes.

"Don't jinx it," she replies, and she ends up wolfing down her sandwich the second Nick gets up from his chair to get the supplies.

Nick returns with a clean palette tucked under his arm, paint tubes, two paintbrushes, and a cup of clean water a few minutes later. Max waves her empty Ziploc bag in front of his face triumphantly, and he shoots her a bemused look in return.

"I'm not sure what's more impressive; your speech today or the fact that you can literally inhale food."

Max shrugs. "Why not be impressed by both?"

"You're right," Nick concedes as he sets down the cup of water and the rest of their materials. "You should teach me someday."

"Hmmm, maybe. There's a price though."

Nick sits down and turns to her. "Oh? How much?"

"Depends. What are you willing to offer?" Max's heart skips a beat.

Nick pretends to think for a moment before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a pen and Post-It notes. "I'll trade you a secret, then."

"Deal."

Nick covers the Post-It with a free hand and quickly jots something down. Before Max could catch a glimpse, Nick had already folded it into a tiny square. He slides the paper to her and flashes her a small smile.

Max silently accepts the offering, ignoring the way her cheeks warm. It should be illegal for someone to have smiles that nice. Kill 'em with a smile, indeed.

"We should probably start working," she says after a beat. "Miss Keller is probably going to make her rounds again."

Nick nods and hands her half of the paint. "Let's get this show on the road."

* * *

 **Maxiepoo** : guys you will never guess what nick gave me today

 **Iggster** : well there go my chances of guessing bc you told me i would never get it

 **DRAMAQUEEN** : um hello the suspense is killing me?

 **RedHeadedWonder** : maya, aren't you in the same room as her

 **TheBestSeestar** : OPEN UP THE BATHROOM DOOR


End file.
